He smiled. “Yes, but not bash their heads in. A stiletto through the heart—I’d go along with that. But our thief works with finesse. This killing is brutal, violent, and I don’t think our thief is a violent person. There have been occasions in the past when he was interrupted during a burglary and he just melted away. He might have killed someone then, but he chose to abandon his attempt.”

“He was interrupted, you say? So he has been seen?”

“No. He always managed to slip out of a window or down a hall as someone approached. We know he’s slim and probably dark, but someone did glimpse his shadow. That’s all.”

“It was definitely someone who came here to commit robbery,” I said, “because the other candlestick is missing. The thief was going to take both of them, but Mr. Goldman must have interrupted him and was hit over the head before he could call for help.”

Darcy shook his head. “And then the thief left the second candlestick because it now had blood on it? He must be a thief with sensibilities. Why not make off with both, especially when one can be identified as the murder weapon. It might even have telltale fingerprints on it. And I notice he hasn’t touched the El Greco painting, which must be a lot more valuable.”

The painting still lay propped against a shelf. The colors glowed in the soft light.

“Well, your suspicions about Stella Brightwell certainly don’t apply this time,” I said. “Didn’t you notice? She was devastated by his death. And presumably she could have taken the candlestick anytime she chose, and would never have killed her lover to do so.”

Darcy sighed and nodded. “It does appear that way.” He looked around the room. “We’d better get out of here and not risk touching anything until the police arrive.”

I pulled back the drape cautiously. “I wonder if the window is closed or if the murderer got out that way.”

Darcy took out a handkerchief. “It doesn’t appear to be latched.” He pushed the window cautiously. It swung open.

I took a tentative step toward the window and peered down. Light shone out, illuminating a sheer marble wall and what looked like rocks below it. “But I don’t think anyone could climb out through it,” I said. “It’s an awfully long way down and I wouldn’t want to risk falling onto those rocks.” Outside I heard the roar of a motor and one of the small carts went speeding past. I thought I saw a rifle slung across the back of the person who was driving it.

As I stepped back into the room I noticed something. “Look at that, Darcy,” I said, and I pointed to a bloody fingerprint on the window frame. “That should help the police identify the culprit easily enough.”